


Profane

by Skyrogue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Fingering, M/M, Poetry, Religious Undertones, Sex, Smut, Wing Kink, ashe vernon, blowjob, holy fuck - literally, profane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22177117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyrogue/pseuds/Skyrogue
Summary: Based upon the poem 'Profane' by Ashe Vernon, provided at the end of the scene. You can read more of Ashe's work on tumblrhere
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Castiel
Comments: 4
Kudos: 63





	Profane

"Good boy," Cas praises, pulling at Dean's hair. The hunter kneels before him, naked as the day he was born, while he hallows out his cheeks around Cas's cock. He listens to the angel sigh above him, his own dick hard between his legs, but not allowed to touch himself. Instead, he forms fists in Cas's dress shirt.

Cas had come in, rolled up his sleeves, and ordered Dean to undress himself. Dean obliged, as he always did. They hadn't been sleeping together long, but Dean learned very quickly that when Cas told him to do something, he had better do it. This amused Dean, because, in his past relationships, he had always been the one to take charge and make demands. But the first time Castiel requested something of Dean and Dean didn't deliver, he learned just how sorry he could be.

Dean may not be in the position to command anything from his partner, but damn could he make Cas's toes curl. Dean couldn't tell if they were or not at that moment, with Cas still wearing his dress shoes, but he imagines the angel is coming undone under his mouth.

Dean pulls back just enough so he can look Cas in his eyes. There's barely a ring of blue around his blown pupils, his lips are parted slightly, and his wings are twitching with pleasure. Dean loves that he can make Cas bliss out like this, loves that he can see the physical evidence of how much his partner enjoys it.

Cas lets his head fall back, losing himself in the moment. His hips raise slightly every time Dean lowers himself over his dick. Dean can feel him pushing the limits of his throat, but he couldn't care less. Cas's hand on the back of his head wards off any wave of nausea, and he uses it to his advantage every chance he gets.

"So good." Cas's voice is shakier than before. Dean relishes in the sound of his husky voice unraveling from its usual composure. "You're so good, Dean."

When Dean came to the understanding that Cas was a dominant man, his first thought was that Cas would be one of those guys who got his rocks off on calling his partners dirty names and telling them how worthless they were. Dean was shocked the first time he heard the words of appreciation, the compliments, the commendation that came from Cas. Any insecurities he had about himself melted whenever they were together.

Dean had actually lost it a little when Cas first flattered him in bed. Castiel proclaimed Dean a holy man and Dean laughed it back so hard his sides hurt. He paid for that one by being bent over Castiel's knees and spanked until hot tears ran down his cheeks.

Cas's grip in Dean's hair tightened and he pulled him up so they could look at each other. A string of saliva fell from Dean's wet, swollen lips, connected to Cas's cock. Cas used the pad of his thumb to wipe at Dean's face, breaking the link. Dean's tongue flicked out and licked Cas's thumb. Cas knew just how starved Dean was to have his mouth occupied and shoved two fingers between his teeth. Dean sucked on them just as enthusiastically as he had with Cas's member.

Slowly, with his fingers still in Dean's mouth, Cas pulls on Dean's hair until they're both standing on their feet. Dean is wobbly, his knees sore from where they had held him up on the floor. 

"So good for me." Cas slowly fucks his fingers in and out, dragging them along Dean's tongue. "You're so good for me. You're everything I've ever looked for in a man." Cas, still holding Dean by the hair, turns them and pushes Dean down onto the bed. "Righteous." Cas presses a kiss to Dean's temple. "Devout." A kiss to his neck, right over the pulse. "Holy." One more over his clavicle.

Dean moans around Cas's fingers. He wonders if the other angels fell so _sweet._

Cas pulls out and makes quick work of arranging Dean the way he wants him, with his ass hanging off the bed and his legs hooked over Cas's shoulders. When Cas presses the first finger into Dean, Dean gasps and his hands reach for something to grab onto. His search ends when he comes into contact with Cas's wings. Dean feels Cas shutter at his feet and then moan like he couldn't help it.

In the beginning, Cas confessed how long he looked for a place to worship, then he fell to his knees before Dean. He kissed Dean's knuckles, his hips, his shoulders, and then, finally, his lips. Dean, being the corny man he was, simply referred to his first kiss with Castiel as "hotter than hell—literally."

Cas is inserting another spit slick finger into Dean when Dean's grip on Cas's wings tightens too much and Cas gasps. Dean releases his hold and watches as one black feather gently falls to the floor. This earns him a slap to his inner thigh.

Dean knew he had to be careful with Cas's wings. Sure, they turned Cas (and Dean) on to no end, but he couldn't pluck because they didn't grow back quickly enough. Still, a filthy sound dropped from Cas's mouth and Dean smiled. He wanted nothing more than to undress the angel from his softness, one feather at a time, and watch his lover writhe.

Cas had always surprised Dean into surprising himself. When Dean pictured him and Cas together, he always imagined that he would be fucking the angel, not the other way around. He should have known better. Cas was one to hide his halo behind his back and present himself as reserved until he was behind closed doors.

And the _things_ he did behind closed doors. If God was out there, if he was listening, Castiel fucks like a seraphim and there was never a part of scripture that ever prepared Dean for his hands. His hands mapped a communion in the cradle of his hips, kissed hymns up his sides, had Dean reduced to nothing in a matter of moments. Even if someone had told him how he would feel under Castiel, he wouldn't have believed them.

Between his thighs, Castiel is whispering a prayer in Enochian. He works in a third finger, corrupting Dean from the inside out. Dean is laying on the bed, panting, begging for more, feeling the knot in his stomach tighten with each stroke of Cas's fingers.

"Close," Dean warns. " _Close_."

Cas pulls out of him without a second thought and just leaves Dean there. He stands, makes his way to the bedside table, and produces a bottle of lube.

"Stand up," he commands. His voice is surprisingly calm for a man who was quivering just seconds before.

Dean is slow to follow his order, but he does, and when he turns to look at Castiel he finds him laying on his back, cock in hand, propped up by pillows against the headboard. He's mostly dressed, his dress shirt and tie still on and his pants were opened just enough for his dick to pop through. Dean knows what Cas will want, but doesn't dare act on it without being told what to do.

Cas waits, knowing that he is torturing Dean with his never ending patience, until he decides that he's had enough. He uses two fingers to motion Dean toward him.

"Show me," Cas orders when Dean is standing beside him, "just how good of a boy you are."

Dean gulps and crawls over Cas's legs. He replaces Cas's hand with his own, stroking and lining himself up before he lowers himself on Cas's dick. They both groan. Cas presses his fingers into Dean's hips where he holds him in place. He doesn't let Dean move. Instead, he pulls the hunter down and kisses him breathless.

Before long, Cas puts a hand against Dean's chest and pushes until he's sitting upright.

"Fuck yourself," he says.

And, _oh_ , Dean does as he's told.

Dean fits over Castiel's hips like they were made for him. He fits, he fits, he _fits_. Every gasp that comes from him is a promise, every moan a vow, and Dean fucks himself on Cas's cock with oaths tearing out of his lungs. Cas soaks each one up. He unbuttons his shirt and pulls one of Dean's hands to his chest.

On top of him, Dean is an ancient god that only Cas remembers and Cas offers up his skin. Dean takes it. Dips his fingers into it. Bends over and licks the sweat from it.

Cas grunts and rolls them over. He fucks into Dean like he's dying, like Dean is salvation. Dean wraps his legs around him and digs his heels into the base of Castiel's spine. Cas wraps a hand around Dean's throat and Dean's eyes roll back into his head. Cas used to be too rough with him, used to nearly put Dean under before he was taught how to hold his neck like a heart. Cas's wings are flapping wildly above them. Dean calls out Cas's name, over and over, like a chant, like he has forgotten every other word except his _name_. 

Cas trades his hold on Dean's throat for his cock and Dean cries out, finally being touched for the first time all night. Cas bends over him, bites at Dean's collar, hips and fist pumping in time and then, his grip sends Dean reeling, heaving, convulsing into an orgasm.

Castiel isn't far behind, and when he comes, he's blushing the color of his obscene tongue.

The first time Castiel fucked Dean, Dean was sure he had ruined him. This angel had turned into a shivering mess, shouting atrocious, vulgar things at the ceiling like he was talking to God, until he collapsed on top of Dean. Convinced that they had both turned themselves over willingly to damnation, he held the celestial close. To Dean's amazement, that night, Cas whispered thank you's to Dean until they fell asleep.

Now, Dean didn't care what happened to them because of this. _If this is damnation,_ Dean thought, _nothing has ever looked as cozy._

Cas collected Dean in his arms and pressed butterfly-light kisses to his forehead, speaking soft words of admiration in the dark. Sighing, content, Dean smiled, and slipped into unconsciousness.

**Author's Note:**

> PROFANE
> 
> The first time he calls you holy,  
> you laugh it back so hard your sides hurt.  
> The second time,  
> you moan gospel around his fingers  
> between your teeth.  
> He has always surprised  
> you into surprising yourself.  
> Because he's an angel hiding his  
> halo behind his back and  
> nothing has ever felt so filthy  
> as plucking the wings from his shoulders—  
> undressing his softness  
> one feather at a time.  
> God, if you're out there,  
> if you're listening,  
> he fucks like a seraphim,  
> and there's no part of scripture  
> that ever prepared you for his hands.  
> Hands that map a communion  
> in the cradle of your hips.  
> Hands that kiss hymes up your sides.  
> He confesses how long he's looked  
> for a place to worship and,  
>  _oh,_  
>  you put him on his knees.  
> When he sinks to the floor and moans  
> like he can't help himself  
> you wonder if the other angels  
> fell so sweet.  
> He says his prayers between your thighs  
> and you dig your heels into the base of his spine  
> until he blushes the color of your filthy tongue.  
> You will ruin him and he will thank you;  
> he will say please.  
> No damnation has ever looked as cozy as this,  
> but you fit over his hips like they  
> were made for you.  
>  _You fit, you fit, you fit._  
>  On top of him, you are an ancient god  
> that only he remembers and he  
> offers up his skin.  
> And you take it.  
> Who knew sacrifice was so profane?  
> And once you've taught him how to hold  
> your neck in one hand  
> and your heart in the other,  
> you will have forgotten every other word  
> except his name.
> 
> — Ashe Vernon


End file.
